No artist of the past three decades has achieved more with less than Madonna. A singer and songwriter of deliberately limited range, she has made herself an undisputed champion of popular music through the force of her personality and her fierce commitment to doing one thing well, over and over, diminishing commercial returns be damned. There is much about this to be admired, and with the release of “MDNA,” her umpteenth studio album, she has scored another circumscribed success. Once again, those who don’t appreciate her music will find nothing to enjoy, or even tolerate, on this streamlined, frothy, proudly one-dimensional set of dance-floor burners. And once again, Madonna will not care. With nothing left to prove, she will keep right on dancing.

Theoretically, this should be the perfect time for Madonna, 53, to release a new album. Electronic dance music is all the rage, and Madonna hitched her star to that wagon in ’98 with the William Orbit-produced “Ray of Light.” Orbit is back in the fold for “MDNA,” along with a slew of hot continental electro producers: Italian Benny Benassi, Frenchman Martin Solveig and the Swedish Klas Ahlund. When they pitch Madonna something in her sweet spot — music reminiscent of the ’80s and ’90s electropop she did so much to popularize — she hits it out of the park. Solveig’s infectious “Turn Up the Radio,” Benassi’s blithe “I’m Addicted” and especially Orbit’s “I’m a Sinner,” which is highly reminiscent of the “Ray of Light” album, are fine additions to the great disco playlist she’s been assembling for 30 years.

Yet as it turns out, the ostentatiously hip Madonna is no better at integrating modern sounds and styles into her formula than her fellow ’80s pop titans have been. Efforts to cede verses to rappers Nicki Minaj and M.I.A. on the brainless “Give Me All Your Luvin’â” and the nasty “I Don’t Give A” are predictable failures, in part because Madonna does not share the spotlight comfortably. She fares no better with trendy dubstep breaks and the rough electro middle-eights; every time she dips her toe into those swirling waters, she gets sucked in just like any other stylistic carpetbagger would. The polarizing track here is “Gang Bang,” a murky, violent nightmare that attempts to swipe some of Lana Del Rey’s homicidal thunder, complete with automobile and munitions noises. Whether you find it chillingly effective or inadvertently hilarious will depend on your appetite for death threats from Madonna. I can keep a straight face for the first half of the six-minute song; after that, I’m on the floor in stitches.

Madonna has not gotten better as a lyricist as she’s aged — she’s still all strong-arm directives to the deejay, facile rhymes like “car” and “guitar,” and lengthy name-dropping sequences. Under the mirror ball, that might not matter much, and at this late stage, artistic growth is probably too much to ask. But Madonna is eventually going to have to develop some new wrinkles; otherwise, she’s going to end up dancing with herself.

— Tris McCall

Traveller

Anoushka Shankar (Deutsche Grammophon)

With “Traveller,” Anoushka Shankar brings to light flamenco’s relation to India, where it is believed to have originated in the ninth century. Fusing traditions (and languages) in new compositions, the result is as rhythmically lively as one might expect.

“Traveller” opens invitingly with long, undulating patterns of insistent percussion (including tabla), the twang of Shankar’s nimble sitar playing and her euphoric voice singing “life dances inside me” — the album was inspired by the birth of her first child.

There are melismatic vocals that sound distinctly Indian, and Spanish guitar, but “Traveller” entices through blends. In “Bulería con Ricardo,” hand claps and bravado-laden, jazzy piano meld with snaking Eastern patterns, heating up to twitchy, rapid-fire triplets and keyboard slides. The jumping, part-tanpura backbeat of “Si No Puedo Verla” adds tension to the throaty cries of the singer Duquende. In “Boy Meets Girl,” stringed instruments from each tradition engage in a dialogue, notes tumbling out like nervous words on a first date. Throughout, Shankar’s decorative riffs are masterful and her compositions engaging, especially the feverish, splashy “Dancing in Madness.”

— Ronni Reich

Port of Morrow

The Shins (Columbia/Aural Apothecary)

Funny thing about James Mercer: Even when the Shins singer attempts to go big, he sounds as mannered as a butler in a British sitcom. He is saved from the dreaded NPR-rock bin by the strength of his melodies — always been some of the best and most acrobatic around. “Port of Morrow” is a Mercer solo album in everything but name: The original Shins, who gave the group more of its character than is generally acknowledged, are history, replaced by Greg Kurstin, a producer who has worked with everyone from Lily Allen to Ke$ha. Kurstin’s contributions consist mainly of slick, unremarkable guitar and bass and a few bubbly electronic intros. But once Mercer takes over and starts to sing in that reedy voice of his, all is forgiven: provisionally on careful country rockers “It’s Only Life” and “For a Fool,” and utterly on Kinks-style power-pop winners “Simple Song” and “No Way Down,” which bravely flirts with sociopolitical content. Mercer is smart enough to realize that the intimacy and guilelessness that made Shins debut “Oh! Inverted World” a bedsit classic is unrecoverable to him now, so he and Kurstin shoot for the clarity of follow-up “Chutes Too Narrow.” And when he shoots for something, more often than not he gets what he aims for. In a cheerful, polite way, of course.

— Tris McCall

Radio Music Society

Esperanza Spalding (Heads Up International)

A few weeks after the release of Robert Glasper’s “Black Radio,” an album that attempts to place jazz in a continuum of African-American music that stretches from the primeval to the experimental, former Grammy Best New Artist winner Esperanza Spalding attempts to turn the same trick on the similarly titled “Radio Music Society.” Like Glasper, Spalding enlists guest appearances from jazz players (saxophonist Joe Lovano) to avant-R&B singers (Lalah Hathaway, who is also on “Black Radio”) and rappers (Q-Tip, who co-produces two tracks). Unlike Glasper, who intentionally smeared the components of his sound into something unrecognizable and fresh, Spalding keeps her ingredients pristine. That makes “Black Radio” the more exciting of the two albums, but Spalding’s “Radio” has its own rewards — particularly Spalding’s singing and bass playing, which continue to improve. The political consciousness that budded on prior sets blooms here: “Black Gold” is a pep talk to African-American boys, “Endangered Species” reaches for an environmental message, and the brief, powerful “Land of the Free” is an old-fashioned protest lyric about the wrongfully imprisoned Cornelius Dupree. Yet none are any more moving than “City of Roses,” Spalding’s love letter to her home city of Portland, Ore.